


In War, Victory

by Bowm8935



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Angst, Deviation from Plot, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Lots of Wardens!, M/M, More stuff, Multi, Stuff, Violence, purposefully vague relationship tabs, who does who
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/Bowm8935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens if Duncan recruited more than just one Warden? This story follows an AU plotline where Duncan found and recruited many different Wardens, including at least one from every origin story. What does this mean for the future of Thedas? Find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism and comments are welcome. Please let me know if you feel someone is out of character. I'll do my best to fix. :)

Alistair groaned, right hand drifting up to rub wearily at his sore neck. His eyes drifted across the camp, taking in the new recruits as they ate ravenously, laughing and overall enjoying their new comradery. Normally he would have joined in, wading through the mass until he found someone susceptible to his particular brand of humor, but tonight he found himself too tired. He had been under the impression that when Duncan had said he was going to go find some new blood for the Order, he had meant only two or three. Five, at the most. But the horde in front of him proved his assumption wrong, very wrong indeed. Duncan had taken a few Wardens with him on his recruiting trip, and had been sending them back slowly with groups of between 7-10 people each. It was his job as the junior recruit to take them out into the wilds to collect darkspawn blood, and he was getting tired of repeating the same task over and over as each new body arrived. He would continue to do so regardless, of course, but he was eager to be finished. Thankfully, Duncan was said to only be less than a day out with the last of the new volunteers, having just finished up in Highever. There had been whispers of some difficulty in the north involving Duncan, but none had been specific enough to warrant his attention. With the Warden Commander on the road back now, it hardly mattered, anyway.

High-pitched giggling wafted through the air, and he turned to see two of the lady mages from the tower pointing at a dwarf who was busy slurping his way through a flagon of ale. _Now where on Thedas did he find that?_ Alistair wondered, mouth curving up slightly as one of the mages – a rather striking girl with long, wavy hair that seemed black but must have actually been a very dark blue, judging from the way the light reflected off it at times, that was currently pulled off the one side in a small brown ribbon – caught him watching and turned a rather endearing shade of crimson, dropping her eyes quickly to the ground. Her companion, an elf with shoulder-length dark blonde hair that was straight as a board, followed her glance to Alistair, and he proceeded to wink at her. He tilted his head, amused when their giggling resumed, a little louder and wilder this time. There had not been any women in the Grey Warden ranks when he had joined, a fact he had never questioned before- though now it occasionally bothered him. Not including those he would meet with the next day, the mass majority of the new recruits had been men. Yet surprisingly enough, when it came to the Joining itself, more women survived than their counterparts when compared to the original number that went through it. He didn’t know if there was any sort of correlation or if it was just coincidence, but he wasn’t necessarily upset at the prospect of having female companions in battle. Duncan didn’t recruit less than the best, and the trips into the Wilds proved that beyond a doubt. The women fought just as well as the men, a vision of ethereal beauty on the battlefield, dangerous to all who opposed them. 

He took a final drink of his own disgusting ale – not from a flagon he was going through all on his own, mind you- and stood up, stretching, reveling in the pops from his spine. Figuring he may as well get some shut-eye before his services were required for yet _another_ trip into the Wilds, he excused himself and meandered toward his tent. Behind him flames licked the sky, crackling in the spot that Duncan had claimed for the nightly bonfire, warming his back even as he drew further away. He passed the kennels that held the mabari, all of the wardogs snoring in a disharmonic melody. To his right sat the magi encampment, quiet and peaceful as the occupants slept, the tranquil man still standing guard over a jewel-encrusted chest. He vaguely wondered what might be in it that required constant guarding, but a yawn overcame his features and that particular line of thought was lost to him. Soon he found his tent, the canvas limp and grey but still welcoming when one wants sleep. Pulling back the flap, he carefully slid inside and started to take off his armor, setting it carefully in a pile in the corner for easy access. Once down to his smalls, he ruffled through his bag to pull out a pair of sleep pants, slipping them on before hunkering down on his bedroll. His eyes closed heavily, and before long, he was off to traverse the fade in his dreams.

~*~

Alistair frowned at the mess in front of him. Six more recruits that he had personally shuffled through the wilds had just participated in the Joining, and only three made it out alive. He had watched as Duncan cut down a knight who sputtered and tried to back out at the last time, then as two more fell to the taint- a ruffian with dark hair and an elven woman who had looked at him with no small amount of hatred. It was probably for the better she didn’t survive, since it was his job to see over the new Wardens and there was already a surplus of those who didn’t take to him. The number of new recruits had grown fast to a number far greater than he was comfortable with supervising, but Duncan seemed unconcerned with it. The three that _had_ survived were on the rough ground, only one having revived so far. The awake man had a rather unruly mop of red hair, a smooth face and bright, intelligent green eyes. From what Alistair could remember (and this was tricky, with so many new faces and stories he was finding his memory quite strained), he was a squire who was close to being knighted in Highever, and Duncan had been very impressed with his skill in battle. The remaining two were still out cold, eyes fluttering as they fought the sickness trying to take their lives. One male and one female, they both had a deep brown hair- almost black- that complimented their dark skin tones. She had hair that was a little past shoulder length and was curled near the bottom, while his was a bit shorter and pulled back into a half ponytail. Their armor was fancier than he had seen outside of the King himself and a few of the troops in the upper echelons of the army, but that was to be expected, he supposed. These were the children of the Teryn of Highever, after all- the original ones that Duncan had been intending to recruit in the area. Ser Almost-Knight-But-Not-Quite-Yet was just a bonus, while the other three were found in neighboring cities.

He pulled out a small journal and opened it to a page only half-filled with names, little scribbles with small descriptions next to them (some physical, some of personalities- however he thought he’d best remember someone) and poised his make-shift quill over it. Duncan raised an eyebrow but did not stop him, having grown used to the random quirks he possessed. Alistair cleared his throat and Ser Still-A-Squire’s eyes flew over to him.

“I realize you’ve already told me _buuuut_ I may have forgotten,” Alistair started, tone cheekier than he meant. “What was your name again?”

Ser Very-Red-Hair coughed and took a drink of the water near him, probably still trying to wash the disgusting taste from his mouth. Alistair still remembered it, dark, sour, bitter, and evil. It was no use, it stayed on the tongue for days after the fact, only finally disappearing when the hunger sets in. 

“Gilmore,” the man said, yanking him from his thoughts. “Roland Gilmore, ser.” 

Nodding, he jotted that down, as well as some of the nicknames he had just come up for the lad. He certainly couldn’t be older than Alistair, though probably not much younger, either. He tapped the pen on the paper for a moment, thinking, before gesturing to the two unconscious individuals. Before the man had a chance to respond, Duncan grunted disapprovingly. Alistair turned to see him glaring at him, arms crossed. 

“Really, Alistair, you couldn’t bother to remember the names of the children of Teryn Cousland?” Tone frosty, Duncan’s eyes bored straight through him. “Were you too busy harrassing the mages in your free time?” 

“The Grand Cleric tracked me down and asked me to deliver a message. I tried to refuse, but the way she wields guilt, it’s like a sword.” 

“And she forced you to sass the mage, did she?” 

Face burning, Alistair looked down. “I…no. No, she did not. I’m sorry, I’ll do better.” He shuffled a bit, kicking the ground with one foot. He knew he probably looked childish right then, but he had just been scolded like one and damn it all if he cared. 

“Elissa and Aedan.” 

Head snapping up, he looked over at Ser Mostly-Knight in confusion. Gesturing to the two on the ground, the female starting to stir, the red-headed man stated it again. “Their names are Elissa and Aedan Cousland.” 

At the sound of her name, the lady’s eyes snapped open and she sat up, hand reaching for her temples as she groaned. Alistair made to set his journal down and get her some water, but was beaten to the punch by… he glanced down at the paper in front of him, determined to remember his name. Ser _Gilmore_ was handing her his water skin, hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. The way he was touching her was quite familiar, and Alistair had to wonder if there was something going on between the Lady Cousland and the lowly squire. Smirking, he shook his head and quickly jotted down the names and distinguishing features of the twins. Honestly, they’d be pretty easy to remember as they had the darkest skin of the whole group. From what he recalled of his training in the chantry, such a dark tone was unusual outside of Rivain, but he found it rather a delightful difference from all the pale nobles he usually saw. Either way, he had no excuse to not be able to remember who they were. If he forgot their first names, at least he could get away with calling them by their last names and the proper term of nobility. 

Finally, the young man coughed and sat up, blearily looking around. His eyes snapped to his sister and the relief was painted across his face when he saw she was there as well, sitting nearly on top of Ser…Whatsit… at this point. After they had all had some water to drink, Duncan raised his hands and welcomed them to the order, gesturing at Alistair to pass out the necklaces that held the containers of darkspawn blood. As he passed them to the three, he noticed they all bore the same face- a mixture of trepidation and excitement. Most of the other recruits were angry, except those who were full of bloodlust. But these three, they seemed to actually want to be in the Order, not just for the glory, but for the meaning behind it. What a nice change. 

Duncan announced the King wanted to meet with him as well as the Couslands, so Alistair motioned for Ser Man to follow him back to the Warden camp. They chatted a bit along the way, delighted to find that both were sword-and-board fighters. Alistair disclosed that there was an extremely large amount of archers in the new group of Wardens, followed in number by dual wielding fighters, those who used 2-handed weapons, and finally the mages tailing at the end. Ser Ginger stopped suddenly at the last statement, turning to look at Alistair with an unreadable look on his face. 

“Mages? As Grey Wardens?” The tone was disbelief, but try as he might, Alistair could not decipher the look he was getting.

“Yes…” he said cautiously. “Grey Wardens do not discriminate. We take all the help we can get. As you know, the sacrifices we make are pretty darn high, regardless of whether your fingers can twinkle or not.” He wiggled his digits at Ser Ginger Knight to emphasize his point. The man rolled his eyes and turned to face the bonfire that was burning high, and they resumed their trek to join the others. 

Alistair knew the meeting Duncan was attending was the final rundown of the plan for battle tomorrow. The scouts had reported the darkspawn horde should arrive sometime late afternoon, and the camp was still bustling with energy as the light faded from the sky. He needed to do a final count on the new members of the Order (he knew it was in the low 20’s range) as well as their preferred weapons, and then in the morning Duncan would go over what everyone was expected to do. He wasn’t concerned about those who had joined after being knights, soldiers, or even mercenaries; they knew how to fight within a larger unit, how to take orders. It was those without that experience he wasn’t sure about. Yes, the archers could just be stuck somewhere and told to fire upon a signal, that’s simple enough. Maybe even that could be done with the mages. But those who were melee fighters would not be so easy to assemble into formation. His own training in the Templars had left him woefully unprepared when he came upon his first batch of darkspawn, and without Duncan’s help and guidance, he surely would have failed. _Not my problem,_ he reminded himself. After all, it was not _his_ job to plan the upcoming battle. He didn’t even know what his position would be for sure, though he figured it would be on the front line with the rest of the wardens. 

He pulled out his journal and flipped to a new page as he walked closer to the bonfire, quill ready to take down the information he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr as StarlingHawke. Feel free to follow me!


	2. Chapter 2

The army was lined up, Chantry mothers walking up and down the rows with incense burning in expensive lanterns, passing their blessings as they went. Tension was obvious in all present, as soldiers shifted between positions and rolled their shoulders to try to loosen up. Archers held bows in tight grips, knuckles white, fidgeting with their quivers. Mages twirled staves, warming up their arms for the more intricate moves later. Duncan and King Cailian made their way toward the front, still discussing strategy as the sky darkened, black clouds rolling in quickly. Lightning flashed threateningly throughout the heavens, causing a few dismayed glances to be cast between soldiers, as though the sky itself was trying to warn of the battle to come.

The first hint of the eminent approach of the darkspawn horde was the small patch of light that peeked through the trees. Slowly, more orbs appeared until it seemed as though the entire forest was lit by an orange glow. Next was the smell. Pungent and overwhelming, a mixture of stale sweat, rotten meat and garbage slowly filtered through the ranks of the army, causing a few to shift uncomfortably. Third was the sound; crunching leaves and tree branches, loud grunts reverberating through the thicket, gradually growing in volume as they neared. Finally, the front line of the enemy broke through, a solitary darkspawn in the lead. Climbing a large boulder, it rose above the others, staring at the army presented to it from behind the horned helmet it wore. Those behind their leader roared and beat their chests, obvious in their desire for blood. Finally, the thing raised its arms wide and let out a commanding yell, answered in turn by its comrades. The darkspawn held a far greater number than anticipated, charging in an alarmingly organized pattern through the forest into the small clearing before the fortress. 

And thus it began.

Solona Kayli Amell- or Kayli, to her friends- nearly jumped out of her skin when a pale hand landed on her shoulder and flipped her around. She had been so focused on the battle, working to the point of sweat to keep the front lines healed and tossing the occasional lightning bolt to the stray darkspawn that she hadn't noticed the cute redhead man come up next to her. Blinking her large, blue-grey eyes at him, she watched as he attempted to do the same to Neria, her best friend from the Circle. The little elf snapped around as soon his hand touched her, staff blade at his throat, panting from the exertion of casting her entrophy spells. His hands flew abruptly into the air in the universal signal of retreat, but she stayed poised to take him down if needed, eyes hard.

"By the stone, drop yer weapon, you blighted elf!" a voice growled out from behind the man. A dwarf with dark brown hair and a long, thrice-braided beard strolled around to the front, lifting a large greatsword and placing it on top of Neria's staff, pushing it down. "We're here on Duncan's orders." Neria withdrew her staff, eying them both warily. Under less stressful circumstances, Kayli would have likely giggled and teased her for her harsh reaction, but now was not the time. She instead turned to the redhead and asked him for his name as well as the message, making sure to speak up so her normally quiet voice would carry over the cacophony below them.

"You may call me Ser Gilmore, my lady," he said, giving her a quick and small bow. "They gave the signal to light the fire in the tower, but it has not been lit. Duncan ordered us to get a small group together and head there as fast as possible to make sure it happens. Without that beacon, Teryn Loghain's troops will not know when to march forward for support." It was all said on one breath, rushed to get the explanation done in record time. He gestured to the man behind him. "Duncan sent the three of us-" she peeked behind, finding another dwarf hidden who waved at her upon seeing her searching glance, "to gather up some recruits to go. You will be with us." He pointed at Kayli and Neria. Having said what he apparently thought was enough, he turned and starting running toward the tower. Kayli clutched her staff and moved to follow him as the dwarves passed, not surprised upon hearing Neria yelling at another body to come as well. A smirk crossed her face; if she didn't know that Neria had certain predispositions about sexual partners, she would have assumed she was smitten with the elf she dragged everywhere with her. Despite having grown up in the tower while Theron - for that was his name, Theron Mahariel- spent his life up until now with the Sabrae clan of the Dalish, they had bonded quickly. They both were rather blunt and preferred to charge straight to the point instead of beating around any bushes, and Kayli didn't have any real issue with smoothing things over for him since she already did it for her friend anyway. 

She knew that by bringing Theron, Lyna would come too- his cousin, from the same clan. Whereas Theron was a mage, Lyna had been a hunter, and she excelled in her archery. Kayli knew they were related the moment she saw them, for they both possessed the same brown eyes that tilted slightly upward with skin the color of honey, their noses petite, bordering on the edge of cute. Despite his young age, Theron had shock white hair that jutted out in all different directions, and his vallaslin markings were colored a deep brown, swirling gracefully around his face in a manner mimicking the night sky. Lyna had plain black hair, plaited to her waist, her vallaslin a dark green color that covered her forehead, curling under her eyes. Neither of them were fond of dwarves but possessed a rather unsettling hatred toward humans. Thankfully, they seemed to keep it under control and Kayli only ever saw it burning in the depth of their eyes. Her skittish nature had led her away from them initially, but after much shoving and protesting, Neria had brought them together and all but demanded the new elves treat Kayli with the same respect they did her. Theron had readily complied, taking Neria at her word and becoming less cool in their interactions, though she couldn’t quite call it respect yet. Lyna, however, still made it plain that she disliked Kayli on principle. Sometimes it felt like Neria was the only thing standing between her and certain death at the hands of the female elf, a rather unnerving thought. But where Neria went, Theron and Lyna followed, and she had no real desire to abandon her best friend, so she tucked her thoughts deep down and pretended as though nothing bothered her. 

She hurried to try to keep up with the men in front of her, but they were more practiced in the art of moving fast from battlefield experience and found herself falling behind. She let out a slight sound of relief when they paused, Gilmore once again getting someone's attention. Another dwarf, this one with hair the color of straw that was braided around her head like a circlet, was wielding a crossbow that she relinquished upon her back to follow as requested. A male dwarf with a shaven head and bold tattoos across his face beside her did the same with his longbow, turning and joining the group. Kayli and the others caught up and fell into step as they ran further across the battlements, having to dodge fireballs and arrows as they went. She shielded her eyes from the fallen around her, lest she stop and try to help the wounded when she clearly was already needed elsewhere. 

The Tower of Ishal loomed up ahead to the left, built high into the sky with grey stone. As they approached, a few of the king's men came clamoring toward them, obviously panic-stricken. As the men approached, Kayli noticed their armor and swords were covered in blood, and she felt her stomach drop at what that meant.

"The tower has been taken! Darkspawn came up from the tunnels beneath!" One of the men panted out, gesturing wildly at the tower. The clouds that had rolled in flashed lightning threateningly, and it set a rather terrifying backdrop for the building. "The other Grey Wardens went inside already, but there were so many of the creatures!" 

Gilmore stepped to the front of their party, back straight and eyes hard. "And you left them?" he asked harshly, causing the men to fall back a little, cowering. "We must break through the group inside and light the beacon so that Loghain's men can join the battle. And in recompense for your cowardice, I expect you-" and he pointed at all four men in front of him, in turn, "will come with us." He tone brooked no room for argument, the soldiers nodding their heads weakly. Gilmore whipped around to the Grey Wardens and started barking out orders and the formation he wanted everyone in. No protests were given, and they all scrambled into position, the king's soldiers falling in line as well. 

Kayli tried to hide the fact that her hands were shaking in pure and unadulterated fear; her life in the circle had never prepared her for this, and she had only held it together previously because she was up on the battlements, away from the front lines of the fight. She felt a hand latch onto hers, and she looked over to see Neria watching her, an encouraging smile tugging at her lips. She nodded at her and tried to steel herself, telling herself that there would be time to fall apart later. 

The group trudged toward the tower, meeting some resistance in the form of darkspawn. After a few rather painful attempts, they began to work as a team, the warriors each picking up groups of the enemy, with rogues and archers adding in backup. Kayli spent her time healing while Neria peppered as many of the creatures as she could with spells to weaken them and Theron used his nature magic to call up vines to hold them in place and then set them on fire. One by one, they felled their enemies and drew closer to the stone building. Soon, they were on the threshold and Gilmore held up his hand, halting their forward march. "Take a quick break and use any health poultices or mana or stamina draughts you need. As soon as we enter, there will be no turning back and no time for rest. The king and warden commander _need_ us," he ordered, pulling a vial of yellow liquid out and downing it. Kayli helped herself to one of the mana potions, sucking it down quickly before placing the empty bottle back in her pouch. Wiping the remaining residue from her lips, she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. As long as their little army kept working like a well-oiled machine, everything should be fine. 

A moment passed, and Gilmore again raised his hand. "Time to move on. Let's go get the blighters and do our duty as Grey Wardens!" He wrenched open the door and pointed his sword inward, yelling "Charge!" before disappearing. The dwarves that had been following him originally both shouted something about Orzimmar before following, and soon the group was pouring into the tower. 

Kayli looked around as she entered and cringed at the sight before her. The walls seemed to be crumbling, and the tables and chairs that had been inside had been flipped over or completely destroyed. They passed into the main room and were met with charging darkspawn, who they slowly cut down. They pressed on, finally making it to the stairs to the next level when a bunch of blight wolves and some Emissaries attacked. Caught off guard, one of the king's soldiers was pounced on and his throat ripped out before anyone could help him, increasing the terror level his comrades had been operating on. One of them tried to desert and was met with a lightning bolt from one of the emissaries, and Kayli watched as his blackened frame crumpled to the ground. She gasped and felt tears pooling in her eyes, pushing herself to keep healing those in front of her. 

After the final emissary was vanquished they ran up the steps, pausing again at the door to quickly drink any potions needed. Gilmore again led the charge through the door, and they continued this way as they made their way further up and into the tower. A room full of cages presented the opportunity to release some mabari to help with the battle, an advantage the female dwarf partook in quickly. The dogs helped dispatch the darkspawn they encountered, but as they were unarmored, they were all killed quickly between arrows and spells. They lost the third of the king's men to a rogue cropping up in the middle of the group, promptly decimated as both Theron and Lyna whipped out a set of daggers to protect those around them. Head reeling, she pushed herself to focus, finding it harder as her mana pool depleted despite the constant intake of potions. She wasn't sure how much longer she could function like this. 

"Where are the other Wardens?" Neria hissed through her teeth. "They should be here _somewhere_." She cast a crushing prison on a nearby rogue creeping up on them, though it was much less strong that when they had began, her energy suffering as well.

Kayli shook her head, clueless to the answer. She hoped they were okay, for the cute man with the poofed up hair and sarcastic jokes was with them. Alistair, that was his name. She found she liked his company, as it led to her laughing and even blushing quite a bit. In a way, he reminded her of… no, now was not the time to think of him. 

As they drew close to the final staircase that would lead to the room with the beacon, the sound of fighting within stalled them. Gilmore's eyes widened at the door, and he turned and shouted their fellow wardens were inside. Throwing the door open, he disappeared into battle, followed quickly by the rest of them.

She almost fainted when she entered. An _ogre_ was in the middle of the room, surrounded by Alistair, two dark-skinned warriors and a small elven rogue who kept running off in a puff of smoke and reappearing elsewhere. A splattering of dead bodies surrounded the four Wardens, but whether they were also of the order or if they were king's men, she didn't know. She grabbed her last potion and drained it, summoning the energy of the fade to her fingertips, casting some much needed healing spells on those in front of her. She caught the grateful look cast her way by the female warrior-she was a noble, wasn’t she? The rest of the group charged in and attacked, melee hacking away at the legs and the distance fighters peppering the head and torso of the beast, trying to bring it down. She watched as it reached down and picked up the bald-headed dwarf, crushing him in its grip before biting off his head. It then threw the rest of the body to the ground, discarded and mangled. 

"GERADIN, NO!" a voice wailed beside her, and she turned to see the female dwarf frozen in shock, crossbow limp at her side with her free hand covering her mouth. Kayli bit her lip, wishing there were time to comfort her but knowing one slip up could cost the entire battle. She felt her mana waning again and hoped they would bring down the creature soon, lest she be rendered unable to heal any longer. As though hearing her thoughts, she watched as Alistair lept high into the air in a manner befitting the warriors of legend, implanting his sword into the ogre's neck. Yanking down, he pulled the weapon through the chest and belly of the creature, causing it to roar loudly and stumble around before losing its balance and falling back. The fighters dodged out of the way of the falling body, Alistair still holding onto his sword as he crashed down on top of the monster. Once they hit the ground, he jumped off and yanked out his sword before lopping of the creature's head. At the sight of the ungodly amount of blood flowing from it, Kayli stumbled over to the side of the room and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach. 

The sound of fire being lit informed her shaking body that the beacon was being activated, and she started to collapse with relief. She heard the cheers of those around her and allowed a weak smile to pass over her face before she retched again. A gentle hand laid on her shoulder, and she turned slightly to see Theron smiling at her. "You did well, for a shem." 

She blinked, unsure how to take his comment. "Um...thanks?" He inclined his head, still smiling, before he pushed some gentle healing magic of his own into her, abating the desire to continue puking. She stood up, thanking him more firmly this time. He opened his mouth to respond when the cheering was replaced with gasps and a few terrified warbles. Looking over his shoulder, she saw the room filling quickly with more darkspawn. Mouth set into a grim line, she pointed and he followed her finger, brow knitting together at the new challenge in front of them. 

The two darted back to the larger group, falling back into place just before the attack came. She was still low on mana, almost useless as she was. But she kept pushing forward, healing as she could, even as the black crept into the corners of her eyes, even as the screams around her become muffled. 

Suddenly, everything became dark and she remembered no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's self-loathing after Ostagar.
> 
> Recruiting Morrigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I found writing this chapter hard. It took me forever to figure out _who_ to write this chapter as (and then felt like an idiot when I thought of Alistair, the obvious choice) and then it took a bit to reimagine it into multiple Wardens. Apologies for taking so long!

Gone. 

Duncan. Was. Gone.

Alistair was standing by a small lake (hardly even large enough to be considered that, if he's honest with himself), gazing through the small reeds and cattails that broke the surface of the water. His hands were limply hanging by his side, as he had no strength left in him to do anything else. Most of his focus was on keeping his face as neutral as possible, eyes burning from unshed tears, hyperaware that he was the senior Grey Warden now. It was lucky that so many had made it out of the battle alive, really. Not that _he_ felt lucky; no, he felt rather _unlucky_ , unworthy to still be living. He should be dead, and Duncan alive. 

Duncan saved him from a life of servitude to the Chantry, kept him from taking the dreaded vows to become a Templar. It was not a life he would have chosen for himself, given the chance- but that choice had never been his, had it? From the moment he was born, the child of King and lowly servant, an unwanted bastard, all of his choices had been made for him. He'd _hated_ it in the cloister. It had been too quiet, too dull. Everyone had been so _boring._ Maker's breath, it had been horrible. The Templar Order he had been pledged to had admirable goals, born a group of great men meant to both protect mages and protect _from_ mages. Yet Alistair had been able to see the corruption in its ranks while still a lowly recruit, watching as those who would call themselves guardians abused the very charges they were meant to keep safe. Conveniently ignored by those in power, the mages in the circles suffered injustices Alistair could not turn a blind eye to. But then Duncan had come and swept him away from it all, bringing him into an Order of much greater warriors following an ideal he could get behind. Kill Darkspawn, save the world? Yes, that was simpler and more noble. Duncan had taken him under wing, mentored him, brought him to meet all the other Wardens. It hadn't taken long for him to feel at home, even like he had a family. Then they marched to Ostagar, and, and...

He hung his head in shame. It was not right. This did not _feel_ right at all. He could not lead these men and women, he was never meant to be a leader. Yet he found himself unwillingly thrust into the position, as none of the recruits had been around long enough to really understand what being a Warden meant. He wasn't sure that _he_ truly understand what it meant. 

The sound of the door to the witch's hut informed him that another of his companions had awakened. The apostate had been able to save most of those who had been in the tower with him, arriving shortly after they had been overwhelmed by the Darkspawn. He would normally be curious as to _how_ , exactly, she had managed that, but this was not a normal day. He heard a sharp gasp and what sounded like someone flinging themselves into someone else's arms and then a loud clap, possibly a hand hitting someone on the back. He didn't turn to look, but he guessed it was the twins and their knight. They were the largest group to come this far together successfully, and were very close because of it. He had noticed the dwarves were congregating together, but that was no real surprise as the elves tended to do the same. Segregation at its finest, but he reckoned that's nothing new. With time, they should be able to merge together as one unit, if not as friends then at least as allies. All that was needed to seal the deal was a worthy leader. 

One that was not him.

But who, then? Not the mages, certainly; he wasn't sure anyone would follow the two elves and the human was much too timid. None of the dwarves seemed interested in a life of leadership, not even the exiled son of the King of Orzimmar. The Dalish had the confidence, but again, he wasn't sure how the other humans felt about following _elves_ (especially the nobles; nobles had a tendency to have elven servants). Besides, the non-mage Dalish was very vocal in her dislike of all the _shems_ around. That left the nobles and Ser Ginger Knight. Perhaps one of them would be up to the task? He'd have to prod a bit and find out. Later, much later, when his head was working again.

Another slam of the door followed by a loud squeal, the noise actually causing him to toss a quick look over his shoulder. The elven mage (Nora? Neri?) had all but tackled Kayli, who looked tired but happily accepted the hug. The scene caused a smile to tug at his lips, despite his harrowing thoughts. Maker, how he wished he had someone who greeted him like that. Alas, it was not meant to be.

"Ah! And here is the last of your fellow Grey Wardens. You worry too much, young man." A voice suddenly spoke next to him, and he jumped as the witch materialized at his side. Turning fully, he watched as the mages disentangled themselves and the group slowly approached him. He noted they all still stood in cliques, the exception being the city elf who stood on his own, eyeing the nobles warily. _What is that about?_ he wondered, hoping it wasn't anything that would bring forth chaos. One human-hating elf could be handled; two, he wasn't so sure about. 

All eyes were on him, and he suddenly realized he was expected to speak. Maker's breath, how he hated this. "So. You're all alive. I thought you were dead, for sure," he said weakly. A couple of them rolled their eyes at him. Well, this is starting out great.

"Please. It would take more than a few darkspawn to kill us, _shem_ ," came the haughty voice of the female Dalish. He frowned at her, realizing just how much of a problem her racism could potentially be. That would have to be addressed soon, by... someone not him.

"We owe our gratitude to Morrigan's mother," Lady Cousland said in a much more pleasant tone. He cast her a grateful look.

"Yes. This doesn't quite seem...real. If not for Morrigan's mother, we'd all be dead on top of that tower right now." Again with the stating the obvious. At this rate, he'd make an absolutely _fantastic_ leader, always able to call out what everybody already knows. Bards would tell tales of his abilities for centuries, certainly.

"Do not talk about me as though I am not present, lad."

He resisted the urge to cower at the rebuke, reminded all too much of some of the Mothers back in the Chantry. He turned and swiftly apologized to her. Upon the realization he had never bothered to find out her name (how rude had they all been, calling her simply Morrigan's mother), he inquired about it. She chuckled, then answered with the name the Chasind folk called her: Flemeth. 

Flemeth. Wait a minute.

_The_ Flemeth? _Maker's breath._

The last group he had escorted out into the woods had consisted of the Couslands, Ser Ginger Knight, a different knight and a former thief. Of course, out of all of them, he could only remember the name of Daveth, the thief. They had stumbled upon Morrigan and Flemeth when searching for the treaties. Well, stumbled isn't the most appropriate word to describe what happened. More like, Morrigan had been _waiting_ by the broken chest and had then escorted them to her mother. Upon arrival, Daveth had swore up and down that Flemeth was the Witch of the Wilds, but he had ignored it as the blathering of the superstitious. Figures that was not the case.

Yep, definite leader material.

Taking a deep breath to calm his voice (and his nerves), he asked if that was true. She raised an eyebrow, obviously slightly amused by his question, before dancing around the question expertly to inquire about if her magic had been useful. He rushed to assure her that had been, and that he as well as the rest of the Wardens were very thankful for her timely intervention and help. Continuing as though he had never spoken, Flemeth explained calmly why it had been in her benefit to keep them alive. She claimed it was as simple as Grey Wardens were needed to stop the Blight, and he wondered if she was telling the whole truth. Others among his group added to the conversation at times, soon leading into a discussion about what they needed to do to proceed. Everyone agreed the treaties were to be used; therefore, trips to Orzimmar, Kinloch Hold and the Brecilian Forest were essential to try to gain allies for an army to fight the Darkspawn. Alistair insisted they also needed to stop in Redcliffe and speak with Arl Eamon, convinced he would not support Loghain's betrayal and would be willing to lend his troops to their cause, as well. He knew that was the case, but wasn't sure how to convince the others. He did not miss the disapproving looks that earned him from a few of his fellows, though he also found a few who agreed with him: both Couslands agreed the help of a noble was desirable, as did the ex-prince of Orzimmar and, surprisingly, the city elf. 

They were close to coming to an agreement when Flemeth interrupted them to offer the services of her daughter. Morrigan seemed just as surprised as the Wardens, turning to argue with her mother. Flemeth silenced her arguments effectively before turning the group to gauge their reaction. Alistair frowned, not approving of the idea, and opened his mouth to tell her _exactly_ what he thought about it when a soft voice spoke up.

"I think it would be a great idea to have another mage with us. Especially one as experienced as you." Alistair turned to see Kayli smiling kindly at Morrigan, who recoiled- yes, literally _recoiled_ \- at the gesture. Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the rest of the Wardens, and he found that he would be outnumbered if he were to express dissent. Absentmindedly he scratched at the back of his head, unnerved by the idea of bringing this swamp witch along. He could probably pull seniority and demand she be left behind, but would that really be in the best interest of the group, or just his own? It was true that they needed all the help they could get. After a bit of waffling, he decided if she betrayed them, there would be enough of them (hopefully) to take her out. 

Stepping forward, he nodded solemnly. "Yes, Morrigan is welcome to come with us."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, as though she expected him to say something else. Was he really so easy to read? Honestly, he doubted he had done a good job of hiding what he was thinking, as the fact that she had yellow eyes was enough to cause him discomfort on their own. Nodding again, he motioned for her to join the discussion. She did, suggesting they travel to a village to the north called Lothering first, to pick up supplies and to do some digging for any pertinent information. Upon the group's agreement, she dismissed herself to pack a bag for herself.

He let her lead the way when they left, falling in behind her as they walked. Everyone had stayed in their groups, so he was alone. With no one to speak with to provide a distraction, his thoughts returned to Duncan. His feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing came crashing back down upon him, leaving a weight so heavy in his heart he almost stumbled when it settled in. He retreated into himself and stayed there the entire walk to Lothering, unable and unwilling to pull himself out of his brooding.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camping outside of Lothering, night one.
> 
> A bit of sparring, and maybe a little smiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always open to suggestions and comments. Thanks for reading! :)

Lothering was a small town at a crossroads of a sort. It was built on the road that led from Redcliffe to Denerim, as well as the intersection of the northbound road from Ostagar. A farming community, the town was barely large enough to warrant the minuscule Chantry it had. Roughly built wooden houses were covered with thatched roofs, wagons placed haphazardly around the town. Patched tents surrounded the outskirts near the Chantry, overrun with refugees running from the Blight. A group of bandits had taken the opportunity to camp on the road near the entry to the area, charging what they deemed as a “refugee tax.” The traveling Grey Wardens had happily dispatched of that issue when they came upon it, the leader of the bandits faltering in his bravery when he realized who he faced. He had turned over all his ill-gotten goods and coin, then fled, taking his men with him. The Wardens carried what they found into town and distributed it to the refugees, hopefully returning things to their proper owners.

The first day there was a flurry of activity between helping rid the town of more bandits that had come to prey on the helpless, talking down a merchant who had been charging exorbitant prices for simple necessities, and running across a few of Loghain’s soldiers. The last group had been stationed at the bar in town, asking around to see if they could root out any loose Wardens. A minor battle had ensued, something that found the group surprised as a Chantry sister joined in, until the leader had laid his weapons on the ground and begged for mercy. Alistair chose to send the man back to Loghain with a message: The Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar.

After having returned to where they had set up camp, Elissa (Ellie) Cousland set to roasting a few hares on the fire to eat while the others settled in. She was delighted when Rory Gilmore sat down next to her with a fond smile, helping her dress the rabbits in amiable silence. He had been loath to leave her side since they had left the castle in Highever, something that should have bothered her but it didn’t. She was a fiercely independent woman, usually making sure any men around her were well aware of that. Of course, he knew that as well as much more, being her lover. Her parents had never approved of her infatuation, as they called it. Thankfully, she was neither the eldest nor the second born- those two spots were filled by her brothers. This bought her a bit more flexibility on who she could bed. Fergus, as the first-born, was to become the next Teryn, while her brother would eventually lead the armies of their land. Normally a third child was pledged to the chantry but her prowess on the battlefield had kept her father’s hand at bay on that decision; up until the point Duncan had arrived. As one of the best two-handed warriors in the north, he had shown up with a request for her to join the Grey Wardens. She could still remember the look on his face as he watched her spar with Rory, who was a marvel of his own right with his sword and shield. He had also chosen to ask for the squire at that point, much to her glee and Rory’s excitement. Then it all went to the Void and her twin brother, who had originally been off-limits due to his eventual position as army commander, had joined them.

She took the spit and shoved it ungracefully through the first rabbit, pushing it down to make room for the next one. Once all four were on, she set it over the fire to cook, moving on to the next group. She had blundered through the brush after a few herself, but she was never meant to be a hunter. Thankfully the elves in the group, both the Dalish and the city elf rogue, were quick on their feet and disappeared for a while, returning eventually with enough to feed the whole group. She _did_ know how to prepare them, so after passing out her thanks she had taken the hares and moved to the fire. She noticed the sideways glance given to her from the rogue, but chose to ignore it as she had no idea what it meant. She had gathered he had some sort of issue with both her and her brother, but didn’t particularly care why. It would either eventually come to a head on its own or he would move past it.

The sounds of metal jarring against metal caused her to look to her right, noting with some interest that her brother and Alistair were sparring. Her hands stilled as she watched; she knew her brother was no wet-behind-the-ears recruit on the field, but he seemed to have some problems keeping up with Alistair. She recalled that the man had been trained in the Chantry to be a Templar, which most likely explained why he approached some of the positions differently. He had also been with the Grey Wardens longer, and had the opportunity to train with some of the best warriors in Thedas because of that. She watched as he dodged an incoming attack, doing some sort of complicated move with his sword to distract her brother before managing to disarm him. They stopped, panting, and Aedan conceded the match.

“You should give it a try, Ellie” the soft voice next to her spoke up. She turned to see Rory smiling amusedly at her, his red hair falling forward slightly to graze his brow. “I can finish up here. I’d be most interested to see you kick his arse, anyway.” With that, he reached out and removed the knife and rabbit from her lap, setting them next to himself before gesturing her toward the two men. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”

She leaned forward, planting a quick kiss on his lips, causing his grin to widen more. “I think I will.” She stood up, dipping her bloodied hands into the small bowl of water they had collected earlier to clean them off quickly. While she scrubbed, she casually called out, “That was a rather good match, dear brother of mine. But I wonder- can I challenge the winner to spar with me?” Without looking up she was able to see Alistair blanch slightly out of the corner of her eye, causing her to smirk. Satisfaction welled up inside of her at the sight, happy to see that he knew she was a formidable opponent. Hands clean, she straightened up, striding confidently toward her tent. “Are we pulling blows or not?” She called over her shoulder. She figured the men had been at least slightly doing so, as they were clad only in their leggings and thin under-tunics.

Her brother laughed behind her, loud and merry, as was his wont. “Well, we don’t want our leader to be _dead_ , so that’s probably a good idea.”

“Tis an interesting prospect. I, for one, would not mind watching Alistair be put in his place.” Morrigan called out from near her tent. She had chosen to set up camp a bit away from the rest of them, for reasons Ellie neither knew nor cared to know.

“The purpose of such exercises are for improvement, are they not? Full force may cause injury, so it’s not something I’d advise.” The former Chantry sister, Leliana, called out. Ellie had the feeling she knew more than she let on, after having watched how she fought against Loghan’s men. She was quite obviously a rogue in ability, dancing through battle with dual-wielded daggers flashing quick and deadly. Only after she had joined with them had she left to get her meager belongings from the Chantry, returning to them in simple splintmail armor with a bow slung on her back. Thin and of a medium build with shoulder-length red hair that was partially braided on each side, her blue eyes held the weight of the world in them despite her attempt to convince them otherwise. Ellie intended to keep her eyes on Leliana, just as she had planned to do with Morrigan. It hadn’t escaped her notice that their reluctant leader had bristled when both ladies had joined the group, though more so with the mage. He had kept his mouth shut since the group had mostly agreed on taking them, but the emotions playing across his face had alerted her to what he thought. She found that she held the same opinion, and thus, had every intention to be wary of them.

“Hey! I’m right here, you know. I can make decisions for myself,” Alistair’s voice rang out, a mixture of cheeky and whiny. She grabbed her broadsword from the floor of her tent, trying not to laugh at his response. He was young; most of them were, really. She and her brother had just reached their 20th year last month, Rory would reach his 23rd in a few weeks. She _thought_ Alistair was the same age as her, give or take a few months. However, since she couldn’t remember where she would have learned that tidbit, she was disinclined to believe it was accurate. She made a mental note to ask him sometime.

She stepped back outside, resting the flat of her sword on her shoulder, tossing a carefree smile at the man in question. “I agree. I think our fearless leader can make his own decisions about how to spar with me.” She walked over to him, her strides long and sure. It took almost no time due to the length of her legs- she was on the tall side, for a woman- and she came to a halt in front of him, her smile turning slightly predatory. She watched as a slight flush crept up his tan skin, his eyes widening when she pulled the sword down and let the tip rest on the ground with no effort.

“Yeah… I don’t know if I’d go quite as far as _fearless_ ,” he answered, rolling his shoulders back slightly and stepping into a defensive stance. She responded in turn, weapon now raised, both hands gripping the hilt comfortably.

“I am unsure if you should call him _le_ _ader_ ,” Morrigan sneered, her voice significantly closer this time. She must have moved closer in the interim, most likely curious to see how this goes. Ellie did not blame her; Alistair was good in a fight, always in the front with the rest of the warriors, managing to keep the enemy off of those around him with little to no issues. Ellie, on the other hand, would do her best to catch those they fight from the sides or the back to do optimum damage with little worry for friendly fire. She knew she cut down darkspawn in a far greater number with more efficiency than most of the other melee fighters around her.

An interesting match this was set to be.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this…but I agree with Morrigan on that one,” Alistair quipped, a sad smile pulling at his lips as they started to circle each other. Ellie narrowed her eyes, irritated by the turn of the discussion; now was not the time to have a leadership crisis. So of course she announced that thought to all present, causing the narrative to die down and Alistair to actually _apologize_ to her. She shook her head, again tamping down the laughter threatening to tear free from her. He was definitely an odd one.

He lashed out suddenly at her, a strike she easily parried. Dropping back into the defensive, they circled for a bit longer before she finally decided to go on the offensive. She leapt forward, bringing her sword down crosswise, knowing full well he’d block it with his shield. With an unsettling speed, she turned quickly out of that and used her pommel to knock him off balance. He stumbled back, quickly regaining his footing, and she watched as a smile crept up his face. He was taking to her challenge, much to her delight. Soon they were no longer pulling their blows, going at it with a determination you’d expect to find on the battlefield. Metal against metal rang out as they blocked, parried and struck at each other, dancing around the arena. She was faster than most expected for a person- let alone a woman- wielding a broadsword, but his extra experience on the field kept her at bay.

Finally, she managed a feint that worked and struck him with a blow that knocked him to the ground. Standing over him with sweat dripping down her face, she pointed her sword at his chest, panting. For a moment, he seemed like he was going to concede, standing on one knee, head bowed. Then a mischievous look worked its way onto his face, giving her a brief warning before she was knocked flat on her back by a force she’d never felt before. She lay there, wind temporarily knocked out her, trying to focus on the sky above to ground her. A collective gasp rang throughout the camp, and she heard two pairs of feet beating the ground toward her. Alistair’s face cropped up in her vision, a worried smile gracing his handsome features.

“Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly, reaching a hand out to her. Before she could respond, two more faces filled her line of sight: the dark brown eyes of her brother, anxious, and the bright green eyes of her love, angry. Before either of them could do or say anything they’d regret, she sat up, pushing them out of the way as she reached for Alistair’s still extended hand. He helped her to her feet, concern and regret chasing each other across his face. She wobbled a bit while she regained her footing, a brief bout of nausea catching her by surprise.

“What… what was that?” she inquired, brushing some of the dirt off of her leggings when she had her balance back.

“…a smite.” His gaze dropped to the ground, guilt blossoming throughout his body.

She froze mid sweep, looking at him in disbelief. “You… _smote_ me?” There was a sharp inhalation from behind her, and she quickly reached out a hand to halt Rory’s approach. She shook her head at him, still working to process what she had just been told.

Alistair shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment, still not meeting her eyes. “Um…yes?”

She stared at him a moment longer before she burst out laughing. Alistair’s eyes swung up immediately, searching her face for deception before the sides of his mouth started to tilt up into a grin. Her laughter increased, becoming a full belly laugh, and soon he was chuckling along with her. Out of breath, she slapped her thigh before working to calm back down. Taking a few deep inhales, she smiled brightly at him. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting _that._ But it’s fair. Is there a way to combat that?”

Aedan was watching her incredulously- he never did understand her love of learning new things on the battlefield, even if it caused pain- while Rory finally understood and laughed quietly himself. Alistair’s face lit up at the question, reaching to scratch the back of his neck as he answered. “It’s possible to brace yourself against it so that it won’t knock you off of your feet, yes, but it takes a _lot_ of practice.”

“Then I’d like you to teach me, if you’d be willing.” He nodded enthusiastically, still smiling widely. Her eyes drifted back to the fire to find the first batch of rabbits were done, the second one close. “But first, let’s eat and perhaps return to the leadership discussion? We all know it’s not a position you desire for yourself, so we should address it while we have the chance.” Another nod, this one much more solemn. “Excellent. It’s decided. Let’s eat!” She picked up her sword and headed back to her tent, mouth watering at the smell of delicious roast rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about Rory...
> 
> There's a mod out there that lets Ser Gilmore travel with you. The developer of it had emailed David Gaider to get more info on the character so he could be as correct as possible. One of the pieces of info received was that his nickname is Rory. Gaider said it is a reference to the Gilmore Girls. 
> 
> Just an FYI. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The iconic discussion between Alistair and the Warden prior to Redcliffe, followed by the events at the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I have no acceptable excuse, so I shall not try to give one.

Ellie sighed in relief as Redcliffe Castle came into her view just over the hill, ready to be off of the dusty path they were currently walking on. She was glad they were so near their destination yet wary of what that entailed. Somehow she had been appointed de facto leader, a duty she shared in part with Rory. She had tried to talk her brother into leading instead her, given that he had experience with it- having trained to be commander of the army in Highever- but he had stepped back, defaulting to her as well. She was aware that Alistair had no desire to be at the front of the group, but felt that he should do at least _some_ of the work since he had been a Grey Warden the longest of them all.

He, however, did not share the sentiment and shied away from any sort of responsibility in that area.

So she was surprised that when the group started down the road, he caught up to her and pulled her aside asking for a moment of her time. She cocked an eyebrow at him but complied, allowing him to pull her away from the others by her elbow. When they were far enough away that their voices would not carry easily, he dropped her arm and let out a heavy breath. She crossed her arms across her chest, jutting out a hip as she waited for whatever he had to say.

Her brief experiences with him had taught her that while he was an expert at humor and sarcasm, the serious stuff came a bit harder. This was obviously the latter, if the look of complete horror upon his tanned face was any real indication of what he was thinking. She glanced back at Rory, shrugging her shoulders when she caught his eye, him directing a quizzical look at her. He frowned, pale face wrinkling with the movement. He was fiercely possessive of her, and she knew he counted Alistair as a threat to their relationship; why, she didn’t understand, as Alistair seemed to be attempting to poorly hide the fact that he was mooning over the blue-haired mage, Kayli.

“Look, I need to tell you something.” She swung her brown eyes back to meet his, tilting her head as her continued. “I probably should have told you earlier.” He sighed, kicking one foot gently into the dirt, an action she had come to associate with a nervous Alistair. “Remember when we all talked about our parents a few nights ago, and I told everyone how Arl Eamon raised me? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in? The reason he did that was because…well…” He paused, eyes fluttering closed as he took in a deep breath, obviously steeling himself for what he was about to say. Curiouity piqued, Ellie straightened, dropping her arms to her sides in a more open and relaxed position. 

He opened his eyes again, locking his gaze onto hers. “Well, because my father was King Maric.” He ducked his head at the admission, foot kicking up more dust. “Which makes Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.”

Ellie felt her jaw drop in utter shock as she took in his confession, blinking dazedly at him for a few moments. He gave her a sheepish smile before looking down at their feet. “But that…” She let out a shaky breath, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she continued, “that would make you heir to the throne of Ferelden, wouldn’t it?”

He jumped slightly, terror evident on his face. “Maker’s breath, I hope not!” he cried out, panic lacing his words. She couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that escaped her at his reaction.

“I-I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule, and so they kept me secret. I never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to know, as long as possible. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to coddle you just because you have royal blood, Alistair,” Ellie said, disbelief permeating her tone. “You still have to pull your weight around here; the blight cares not for who we are related to.”

He chewed on his bottom lip a moment before replying. “Yes, well, that’s true enough. At any rate, that’s it. That’s what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it before we reached Redcliffe.” He gestured toward the city with a hand, eyes focusing on something in the distance.

She shifted her position so that she could see the rest of their merry band of misfits behind them, considering. “Mmm. Don’t you think we should inform the rest of our companions? The Wardens, at least, have a right to know.”

He bowed his head, a sad look written across his face. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just… don’t want to be treated any differently than I am now.”

She reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he started slightly at the unexpected contact. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” she said, smiling at him. “But I do feel compelled to ask… that’s it for your world-shaking secrets, right? You’re not hiding anything else from me?”

He laughed, and she was relieved to see some of the anxiety leave his face. “Besides my unholy love of cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it, just the prince thing. Now can we move on, and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

A wicked smile cropped up on her face as she shifted one leg back, dropping into a low bow- the type men reserve for those of royalty. She dipped her head, keeping her eyes on his face long enough to see the look of pure horror blossoming across it. “As you command, my prince.”

He let out a loud groan, and when she straightened, she saw him dragging a hand down his face. “Great. I’m going to live to regret this, I just know it,” he grumbled as he trudged past her back to the group. She laughed again, this time with more sincerity, and joined him.

 

* * *

 

Ellie passed through a large door into an even larger room and halted suddenly upon entering, blinking slowly as she tried to process what she was seeing.

What she had expected to be a straightforward trek to the castle to visit the sick arl turned out to be a much more exciting endeavor. No sooner than they had passed under the arch signifying their entry to the town’s outer limits did they find themselves accosted by a young man named Tomas, who stuttered and stumbled over himself as he desperately tried to explain what was plaguing the village. The poor boy decided to take them to the person currently trying to organize an adequate defense system against the horrors that continued to sweep over the town each evening, a man in his late thirties with dark red hair and a matching goatee. He introduced himself as Bann Teagan, the arl’s brother, and explained what they knew about the current events. That really wasn’t much at all, and Ellie found herself running all about the village, trying to find people to fight, convincing a smith to take up his hammer again and getting some petty amulets “blessed” by the local Mother. A few of her companions grumbled at the menial work assigned to them- Morrigan and the Qunari they had picked up on the way out of Lothering, Sten, most notably- but as the daylight dissipated they all pulled together to defend the people who needed them.

The group split into two, Rory in charge of the half that waited at the gate that led to the castle proper while Ellie scattered her people throughout the less defensible parts of the community, hopeful that they could keep casualties to the minimum. She was not as shocked as she should have been when the undead started filing in, and was relieved to find both her warriors and the townspeople working together to cut them down with relative ease.

When the attack stopped, she heard Rory shouting for her to come to the windmill. Beckoning to her group, she heeded his call and joined him at the top of the road where Bann Teagan stood waiting for them. When he started laying out a plan to enter the castle, a woman came running down the lane shouting at him with a distinctly Orlesian accent, and Ellie noticed the Ferelden-born warriors around her tensing noticeably. She gestured for them to relax when it became apparent this was the arlessa, and stood by impatiently as she and the bann spoke, waiting for something she could do. Finally Teagan turned, offering her his signet ring and telling her of a tunnel that led from the mill to the castle. Without a second thought, she had plucked it from his fingers and marched to the aforementioned passage.

Which was how she ended up where she was now, the throne room of the castle, shocked into silence as she watched the bann dancing around in a rather undignified fashion while a young boy clapped and squealed with glee. She noted the arlessa was standing next to the child, shoulders slumped and looking utterly defeated as her brother-in-law spun around and contorted himself in ways that should have been painful for the boy’s amusement.

A muttered curse from behind her snapped her out of her frozen state, and she plowed forward to the center of the room, halting only when she saw the child focus his- no, _its_ \- eyes on her. She felt her blood turn cold at the pure evil in those orbs, not a shred of humanity to be found in its gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Morrigan shift slightly before saying under her breath “’tis possessed, that much is certain.”

Ellie’s gut twisted painfully into knots at the statement, eyes widened as she took in the implications of what a possessed child meant: one, that this was probably the cause of the village’s troubles, and two, that she probably would have to kill said child.

Abominations could not be suffered to live, after all.

The boy did not take well to their presence and made its thralls attack the group, the bann included. “Mages! I need one of you to incapacitate, _but not kill_ , the bann, please!” she yelled as she parried an attack from one of the castle guards. The hair on her arms stood as she felt a gust of magic fly by to do just what she ordered, and through the fray she could see that the bann was now secured to the wall by vines, unable to do more than wiggle.  Nodding her head in approval, she focused on the battle at hand. It was a quick affair as the royal soldiers were outnumbered nearly three-to-one, the Wardens trying to knock out rather than kill their opponents. Once they lay scattered on the floor, Ellie sheathed her sword, unsurprised when another pulse of magic flew past her, this time headed for the child. The boy was knocked back a few steps, stumbling, before raising a hand to his head and blinking several times.

"What...what?" He asked, pre-pubescent voice cracking in fear as he surveyed the room. Confusion was replaced by abject terror, and he called out for his mother in a small voice, shaking arms reaching toward her. Face radiant with joy, Isolde rushed forward only to cry out in alarm with he staggered back clutching his head. The creepy, echoing tenor of the demon returned, snarling out a warning before fleeing to a different part of the castle. The arlessa sunk to her knees in grief, hands covering her face as she sobbed loudly.

Ellie motioned for Teagan to be cut down when she heard him moan, not taking her eyes off the wailing mother. She found it hard to dredge up much sympathy for the woman; she had brought all of this upon them by hiring a maleficar to train her son. Surely there had to be a better solution.

There was a scuffle from behind them, and she turned to see Alistair helping Teagan limp over to where Isolde knelt on the ground, the woman jumping up as he approached, horror in her eyes. "Teagan! Are you alright?" she cried out, face wrinkled as tears continued to stream down her face.

 Alistair led the bann over to a nearby chair, helping him ease down into it. Teagan wiped a hand across his face, a somber look left in its wake. “I am…better now, I think,” he answered, his voice strained. “My mind is my own again.” He scooted further back into the chair, pain flashing across his features as he did so. Isolde hurried to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and sobbing out her apologies. He reached one of his own up to cover hers, but not before Ellie caught the brief look of annoyance in his eyes.

“We need to decide what to do with Connor,” he said, so quietly it almost went unheard. “Demons do not listen to reason. I do not know if we can save him, Isolde.” She collapsed into a chair beside his, cradling her face in her hands at his words. He gently placed a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles to try to help her calm down.

Ellie retreated, motioning for her group to convene in the furthest corner from the two. “Okay, I would rather not kill a little boy, so I need ideas, _now,_ ” she growled out, leveling everyone with a glare. “Alistair, you were training to be a Templar; do you know of anything that could save him?”

Alistair shook his head sadly, eyes full of pity. “Unfortunately I don’t, but I also don’t want to kill a child. What about the mages?” All eyes swung to the four present as he continued. “Do you know of any spells?”

“I know how to send someone into the Fade, where they could fight the demon and free Connor,” a male voice said from behind them, and Ellie whirled about, dagger placed under the newcomer’s chin.

“I do not remember letting you out of your cage,” she snarled, flicking her eyes over to the guilt-ridden faces of Kayli and Neria. “But now that you’re here, I suppose we could at least hear what you have to say.” She lowered the dagger, gesturing for him to join their group. “But if you try anything…” she began, pointing the blade at his throat.

The mage nodded. “I’ll die, got it.” He closed the small gap between him and the rest, diving into describing the ritual he had brought up. It sounded very promising, and everyone had bobbed their heads in agreement until he mentioned that he would have to use blood magic. Even that hadn’t originally deterred everyone, Ellie herself being willing to spare a little to save a child- but then he mentioned he’d have to kill someone for it. Kayli spoke up at that point, saying that if the only thing preventing him from doing the spell without blood magic was lyrium and more mages, they should head to the tower, as it wasn’t more than a few days away.

Then the arguments erupted. Morrigan and Sten fought on the side of using the blood magic, albeit for different reasons; Morrigan considered it efficient and a fair trade if Isolde were to sacrifice her life since the whole fiasco was her fault, whereas Sten didn’t think it wise to waste the time traveling to the Circle. Leliana and Alistair insisted they go to get the mages, not wanting to use blood magic. The three Grey Warden mages felt going to the circle would be wise, but Lyna argued against her cousin, not wanting to risk exposing him to the Templars in any fashion. The dwarves all felt they should stay; it was too risky to let the demon run amok while they left. Rory and Danny were torn, but ultimately fought on the side of gaining help from the mages. Darrien- the city elf- had no opinion on the matter, offering to do a game of throwing knives to determine the outcome, to which Ellie scoffed.

She put her thumb and forefinger up to her mouth and let out a shrill whistle, thankful at how fast the din died down. “This is a pretty even vote,” she said, chewing on her lip as she thought. “But I am uncomfortable with asking anyone to give their life unless we have no choice.” She glanced at Jowan, who cowered slightly, hands held before his chest in a silent plea for mercy. She rolled her eyes at him, disgusted, before turning back to the group. “I propose we split up; some of us stay here to help guard the castle and village while others go collect the mages we need.” At this, a few of her companions started to protest, but that quickly stopped when she held up her hand impatiently. “My decision is made. You all made me your leader; that means you must respect my decisions.”

Before she had a chance to decide who was going where, Isolde rushed forward, devoid of tears but wringing her hands. “My lady, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but do you think you could spare one or two people to seek out Brother Genetivi in Denerim? My husband is ill, and I believe the Urn of Sacred Ashes is the only way to cure him. Brother Genetivi is the only man to have had any success is searching for the relic.”

Ellie gaped at her, blinking slowly as she processed the insane request. Teagan cleared his throat from his chair, causing Ellie to snap her eyes to him. “I would like to back her request, if I may. We have run dangerously low on our knights due to the demon, and are unable to spare any more in order to continue the quest to find it.” He gave her a small, apologetic smile as he finished, waving at Isolde to return to his side.

Ellie let out a long sigh, hands reaching up to rub circles in her temples as she turned back to the curious group of Wardens _plus_ before her. “Okay,” she began slowly, letting her arms drop to her sides and hang limply. “So we need three groups: one stays here, one goes to the Circle, and one goes to Denerim. We need at least one warrior and one mage with each group; any volunteers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as StarlingHawke


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